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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941228">Extending a Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGALOVER/pseuds/SGALOVER'>SGALOVER</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What do you deserve? [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Kidnapping, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bards are full of surprises, Fake Witcher Lore created by Bards, Hair Dyeing, Injured Witchers, Jaskier likes to collect Witchers, M/M, One night stand leads to friendship, Paranoid Witchers, Swearing, Tags to be added until completion, witcher family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:41:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGALOVER/pseuds/SGALOVER</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending so long cooped up in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier decides to risk going out on the road again.  He's sure everything will work out despite the ever present fact that Nilfgaard is still looking for him.  After all, he's learned so much from his Wolves.  What could possibly go wrong?  And if he happens to make a few new friends along the way that's all the better...right?</p><p>Or</p><p>Jaskier brings more Witchers into his little family.  Even if some of them don't really understand how that works.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Coën &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Coën/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What do you deserve? [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>261</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Letho</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It'll make more sense if you read the rest of the series but it could also stand on it's own I suppose lol<br/>Hope you guys enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Please, this is really all some kind of mistake!” Jaskier floundered as he was dragged backward down a ladder in the middle of the woods and into a hole, “The Grand Bard Dandelion would never do what you’re accusing!”</p><p>	“You can keep calling yourself that all you want.  It’s not fooling anyone.” the man with a hold of his right arm grunted</p><p>	The one on his left, whose grip was far tighter on Jaskier’s left arm, huffed in agreement, “Yeah, shut the fuck up.  The Bard Jaskier is wanted by the Nilfgaardian army.  The price we’ll get for you is worth getting it wrong once or twice.”</p><p>	“But what would ever make you think I’m worth being such a mistake?” Jaskier asked as he tried to think of any way out of this.  How fucking stupid was he to get caught after only a month back on the road.  It seemed that longer hair, a smart but full goatee, and a new name was not going to be enough to hide his original reputation and self.  If he survived this the Wolves would never let him hear the end of it.  Jaskier tried to fight off the worst of his despair as he was dragged down a further but better built set of stairs and into a short hallway.</p><p>	“The injured Witcher we found just outside of town was a big clue.” said Thug One with confidence</p><p>	Jaskier felt his blood freeze, “Injured Witcher?” he let his mind buzz through everything he knew.  It just didn't add up.  The Wolves had agreed to try and stay off his proposed route for the year.  That way no one could associate his new temporary identity with the Witchers.  It hadn't been an easy fight to win on Jaskier’s part.  He knew it was dangerous but Jaskier was never built to stay in one place so long.  He treasured all his Wolves and their help but he had to be a Bard.  It was his entire purpose!  And if another Bard could somehow gain fame through the use of Witchers as muses, perhaps that would even further the growing reputation of the Monster Hunters.  But perhaps one of them had broken their promise and followed him?  </p><p>“Yeah.  He tried to hide himself just like you, made all kind of excuses and lies when we dragged him down here too.” said Thug Two with a smirk in his tone</p><p>“You know, there are a lot of Bards and Witchers on the Continent.  Are you going to try to capture every pair that just so happens to be in close proximity to each other?!” Jaskier started to struggle when the pair stopped and he heard keys in a lock, “Please, you’re making a mistake!”</p><p>“Just shut up and accept that this is happening.” the sound of a door opening was followed by a sound of cruel amusement, “Hey, you could even make yourself useful if you felt like it.  Shame to let the Witcher die when Nilfgaard will pay double for both of you together <em>and</em> alive.” </p><p>	“Wha...ARGH!” Before he could think about that statement too hard he was chucked into the roughly built cell his captors had constructed.  He’d seen places like this before with Geralt.  Secret underground dens for the wicked to hide both themselves and their spoils.  This one at least had a little light leaking in from various cracks in the door that had slammed shut behind him.  With the dim lighting Jaskier could just make out shapes.  The one he was most interested in was the shape that moved slowly in the corner. </p><p>	“Who the fuck are you supposed to be runt?” asked a deep voice filled with exhaustion and pain</p><p>	The smell of blood and human waist made Jaskier crinkle his nose but he forced a smile onto his face, “The Bard Dandelion, at your service Sir Witcher.  Or at least, I assume you are a Witcher.”</p><p>	A pair of yellow eyes caught just enough light to reflect back at him, much like a cat, “Good assumption.” there is a pained grunt, “Don’t suppose you got any bandages or healing herbs on you?”</p><p>	“No, unfortunately not.” Jaskier stood slowly, trying to make it clear he wasn't a threat, “But if you tell me what’s wrong I might still be able to help.  I promise, I mean you no harm.”</p><p>	The silence stretches long enough that Jaskier begins to wonder if the man had fallen asleep.  Then, “If you try anything, injured or not I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”</p><p>	A nervous hollow laugh burst forth from Jaskier’s throat, “Of that I have no doubt.” Jaskier assured as he slowly made his way forward, already taking his thankfully undamaged lute off his shoulder so he could kneel down near the Witcher.  This close Jaskeir could make out a few more details.  The most obvious one was the fact the man had a shaved head.  Perhaps the thugs thought Geralt had cut it off to hide?  Next he noticed how utterly thick the man was.  Shoulders, chest, thighs, arms, all of it looked hard as stone and large as a tree.  Then Jaskier’s eyes landed on the source of the Witcher’s pain.  Three large marks digging deeply into his side.  The bleeding was sluggish and even in the dim light it was obvious that the blood was a slightly darker color than normal, “Something large and poisonous?” he asked as he started to shuck out of his silk doublet</p><p>	The Witcher grunted in affirmation, “Arachas.” was the simple reply</p><p>	Jaskier hissed as he finished getting his doublet off and looked for a weakness in the seams with his fingers, “Nasty things to be sure.  Did you not have time to reach your potions before they snatched you up?”</p><p>	“No.” the Witcher sounded slightly more suspicious, “What are you doing with that dumb shirt.”</p><p>	“Something that will hurt my soul deeply but hopefully stop your bleeding.” with that Jaskier pulled hard and winced at the sound of ripping stitches and fabric, “I’d use my shirt but I need something to wear when we make our harrowing escape.”</p><p>	“Oh yeah?  You sound awful sure we’ll get out of here before the Nilgaardians arrive.” the Witcher grunted, “And I’ll admit, even if I ain't who they’re looking for they’ll pay for me anyway.”</p><p>	“Trouble maker are you?” Jaskier tried to joke as he ripped the side of Witcher’s shirt open so he could get at the wound.  He used his fingers to carefully run over the skin around the wounds, “It’s not hot, so not infected.  A miracle considering the state of this dreadful cell.” he pouted, “I wish I had some spirits to clean this with but I suppose need is greater than caution.” as he spoke he ripped one half of his shirt into smaller strips.  Then he stretched the larger piece as far as he could and managed to secure it around the Witcher’s torso, “Luckily there is just enough fabric to keep the initial tension against your side.”</p><p>	“What are the strips for then?” the Witcher asks with interest</p><p>	“I’m going to braid them together in a way a friend of mine recently taught me.  I’ll slip it under the main part of the bandage and it’ll help add some extra tension while furthering the staunching of your blood.  Or something like that.  Sometimes I tune out when he talks for a long time.” Jaskier laughed at his own joke as his fingers, now slightly slick with blood, started to play with the silk in his lap</p><p>	They sit in silence for several minutes while Jaskier finishes his task.  He starts to hum without realizing it, which isn't unusual for him.  What is unusual is the snapped, “Cut it the hell out!  I only just managed to shake that earworm.  If you infect me again I’ll beat you to a pulp.”</p><p>	“You…” Jaskier realized he’d been humming Toss a Coin.  He chuckled, “My apologies.  I’m rather fond of Bard Jaskier’s works.  Though if you have a request for something else I’ll do my best to oblige.”</p><p>	He can hear the smirk, “Know anything loud and bawdy?” a shift and then something metal and cold is being pressed into Jaskier’s hands, “We’ll need to draw their attention if we want to make our <em>harrowing escape</em>.”</p><p>------------------------BREAK----------------------------</p><p>
  <em>Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger<br/>
Come quell your daughter's hunger<br/>
To pull on my horn<br/>
As it rises in the morn<br/>
For 'tis naught, but bad luck<br/>
To fuck with a puck<br/>
Lest your grandkid be born<br/>
A hairy young faun<br/>
Bleating and braying all day, hey ho</em>
</p><p>It was the repeating of the chorus that really did it in the end.  An angry man stormed down the hall, shouting the whole way for the ruckus to stop.  Jaskier was insulted.  To call one of his best drinking songs ruckus, honestly!  It was almost satisfying to slide the blade into the man’s neck when he barged into the cell.  Jaskier grimaced as he looked at his bloody hand, “Lovely, more bodily fluid to grace my person.  Just what I wanted.”</p><p>	“Yeah, woe is you, now help me up runt.” </p><p>	“Dandelion!” Jaskier snapped as he rushed over and did his best to support the Witcher who had been using the wall to stand, “My name is...Oh Melitele you’re heavy.” Jaskier strained under the weight of the large mutant as he made his slow way toward the door</p><p>	“Just get me to the first cell.” the Withcer grunts as they exit their prison over the dead body of the thug, “They dropped my gear in there.  Probably to sell for later, fucking bastards.”</p><p>	“Almost there.” Jaskier grunted under the weight of the truly monstrous Witcher, “Are your potions there as well?”</p><p>	“Should be.”</p><p>	Before Jaskeir could respond there was a call ,”Geff, you done shutting them up yet?  Remember we have to leave them alive.”</p><p>	Footsteps on the stairs leading down to the dungeon had Jaskier quickly setting the Witcher down, “Be calm Sir Witcher, and play dead if you don’t mind.” He was happy to see the man go limp the second he hit the ground.  Jaskier took a deep breath and forced tears to his eyes just like he did for sad songs on stage.  He pulled the still bloodied dagger from his belt and clutched it tightly out of sight.  The last step was to pick up his breathing and fall back against the other side of the hall just as Thug Two appeared.  Before the man could speak or fully understand what he saw Jaskier met the man’s confused eyes, “Thank Melitele you came!” he half yelled in a frantic tone, “That...that monster...he killed the guard and…” Jaskier made a show of sliding to his knees, “I almost didn't...he came at me and…” Jaskier pointed to the body, “The dagger is still in him.”</p><p>	The thug ran forward with several swears and started to examine the Witcher’s body in a panic.  In that moment of confusion Jaskier struck, the knife digging deeply into the back of the thug’s neck.  The sound it made when he withdrew the blade made Jaskier feel a bit green around the gills but he soldiered on and went back to the Witcher’s side.  In the light of the surrounding torches Jaskier could actually see the mildly impressed look the Witcher wore, “That’s two now runt.  Keep this up and I’ll think you’re actually worth more than some lousy Bard.”</p><p>	“Careful.” Jaskeir flashed a hard grin, “I’m still the one with the dagger after all.” as the Witcher laughed gruffly Jaskier decided to take a bit of a short cut.  He ran to the end of the hall and opened the first door while half whispering over his shoulder so as not to be heard in case there were more thugs, “And I’ll have you know that Bards are useful for a variety of reasons.” he smiled when he saw his own pack among the horribly present pile of things.  Finding the Witcher’s bags was easy.  They were tied to the iconic twin swords.</p><p>	“What, sucking cock and making music isn't enough?” Although the barb is one Jaskier has heard before, it’s never been spoken in such a childish tone.  Almost like an offended child calling an adult old just to see the look on their face.</p><p>	Jaskier just laughs as he emerges from the room and watches the shock cover the Witcher’s face when he drops his things at his feet, “Witcher, if I sucked cock properly I wouldn't be able to sing.” he winks and chuckles at the grin he gets in return</p><p>	“I like your bark Bard.  And your bite.” he sends a meaningful look at the slowly bleeding corpse in the middle of the hallway before reaching for one of his bags and dragging out a familiar vial of Swallow as well as a smaller one of Golden Oriole.  He took both quickly and grunted, “There are two more men upstairs, I hear them.  Doubt you can use the same trick twice.”</p><p>	“Oh?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he reached for his own bag, “That sounds like a challenge.”</p><p>	The Witcher blinked and stared for a moment, “Wait, you’re serious?” Jaskier pulled out one of the bombs Lambert had taught him to make.  The Witcher’s jaw actually dropped, “Is that a Samum bomb?  Where did you get that?”</p><p>	“I made it.” Jaskier boasts proudly before bringing his finger to his lips and saying quietly, “Shush now, the Bard has a plan.” before the Witcher can come up with a response Jaskier makes for the stair.  He gets half way up before he shouts, “THEY’VE ESCAPED!  I NEED HELP DOWN HERE!” the sound of two pairs of footsteps come pelting toward the stairs.  Jaskier waits for just the right moment before running the wick down the side of his boot where, at Lambert’s insistence, Jaskier has swen a rougher strip of material for flameless lighting of wicks.  He threw the bomb and smiled when he heard the men trying to skid to a stop.  But it was already too late.  Above Jaskier a cloud of light and sound exploded.  Not letting himself feel the pain in his ears Jaskier rushed up the stairs and attacked the two stunned bandits.  He almost felt bad about how easily they fell to his borrowed blade.</p><p>	“Hey, runt, you alive?!” </p><p>	Jaskier was tempted not to answer but that only lasted a moment, “Was there ever any doubt?”</p><p>	“Maybe.”</p><p>	“So nice to hear.” Jaskier looked upward at a hatch that was closed above his head.  When his eyes spotted an engaged lock he relaxed, “It looks like they don’t have any guards outside.  The hatch is locked tight.”</p><p>	“Great.  Now come down here and help me out.”</p><p>	“So demanding.” Jaskier can’t even find tease to add to his tone.  He’s too busy beaming at how proud his Wolves would be to know what he’d done here today, “Here I come gentle Witcher.”</p><p>	The next twenty minutes consist mostly of Jaskier helping the large Witcher up to the surface.  It’s night when they emerge and Jaskier takes several deep breaths of fresh forest air.  As he does so he sees the Witcher looking around.  Probably making sure there really aren't any guards.  Jaskier decides to wait until the man relaxes before straying a few yards in every direction to collect firewood.  When he brings it back to start setting up the Witcher raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing now?”</p><p>	“One would think a Witcher knows what making camp looks like.”</p><p>	“I know what it looks like!” the Witcher snaps, “But why are you doing it?  Aren't you going to run to the nearest town and…”</p><p>	“No.  Honestly, they’re probably the ones that gave me up.” Jaskier lets another bitter smile overtake his face as he finishes making his fire pit, “They didn't like my songs much.”</p><p>	“Figures.” before Jaskier can look for his flint the fire lights itself.  He shoot a look at the Witcher whose hand is still extended</p><p>	“Thanks.” Jaskier digs into his bag and pulls out a few strips of Jerky, “Here, food helps the Swallow along right?”</p><p>	The Withcer stops with his hand halfway to the food, “How do you know that?”</p><p>	Jaskier sighs and looks around.  Only the night surrounds them, “So, my name isn't actually Dandelion.”</p><p>	“No shit.”</p><p>	“If you interrupt you don’t get answers.” the Witcher frowns but nods.  Jaskier focuses on the fire so the Witcher can’t see his smile, “My real name is Julian, otherwise known as the Bard Jaskier.  Bringer of joy and truth through music to all the masses of the Continent.”</p><p>	“So it’s really you!” the Witcher sounds a bit upset but also surprised, “Those bastards weren't just blowing hot air out of their asses then?”</p><p>	“Oh, I’m sure they were.  But not about my identity.  Of course I would never admit it out loud until that pesky bounty gets taken down.” with the fire lit he returns his eyes to the slowly healing Witcher, “So, now that you know my name may I know yours?”</p><p>	After a few moments and a hard gaze the Witcher said gruffly, “Letho of Gulet.”</p><p>	“Letho...the Viper right?” Jaskier asked as calmly as he could, “I hear you take human contracts, regardless of the human’s Class in life.”</p><p>	“That’s one way to put it.” Letho comments, his gaze still hard and serious, “Others would call me a King Slayer.”</p><p>	“I try not to use Witcher monikers.  They often prove to be less than the sum of their parts.” Jaskier answers honestly as he makes a show of getting comfortable in front of the fire, “How about, just for now, we get comfortable and wait out the night.  I’m sure by morning you…” a dagger took deep root not one inch from Jaskier’s foot, “ARGH!” he stumbled to the side and looked up at the Witcher who was now standing over him with yet another blade at hand</p><p>	“Who are you really?” Letho asked darkly</p><p>	“I already told you who I am.  Can’t you hear or smell that I’m telling the truth?” Jaskier squeaked slightly when a sword point met his neck</p><p>	“Witches can cover scents, so can Sorcerers.  As far as I know you could be just another bounty hunter after my head.  Killed your competition to get the real prize.” Jaskier leans back as the sword presses harder, “You know the secrets of our potions and bombs.  Very few humans are ever granted such a right.  Even if you are that damned White Wolf’s barker you could still be something more.”</p><p>	“Wow, you’re really paranoid aren't…” Jaskier stopped when the blade pressed hard enough to draw a small dribble of blood.  He could feel the warm liquid pooling at his shirt collar.</p><p>	Letho opened his mouth to speak more before stiffening and sniffing subtly at the air.  Before Jaskier could even form theories in his mind he heard a call from several yards behind him, “STOP!  DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE LETHO!”</p><p>	Letho removed his sword and moved back several feet as a familiar figure jumped over Jaskier’s head and took up a defensive stance right in front of him, “Eskel.” he thought he felt tears of gratitude building in his eyes.  Jaskier could forgive one of his Wolves for following him if this was the result.</p><p>	“A wolf, I should have known.” Letho growled while backing up and favoring his left side</p><p>	“How dare you threaten a member of our Pack.” Eskel actually growled</p><p>	Jaskier felt a chill go down his spine.  He’d never seen or heard Eskel angry before.  The look on his face pulled at the scar in a way that made Eskel truly look like the beasts humans thought Witcher’s to be.  Yet Jaskier felt no fear, because that look was for him, “Don’t be too hard on him.” Jaskier finds himself saying despite the warmth growing in his chest, “We’ve both had a rough day of kidnapping.”</p><p>	“I figured it was something like that when I saw the footprints and smelled your sweat.” Eskel commented, “How did they get the two of you lumped together?”</p><p>	“Well, from what I understand, Letho was ambushed after a hunt.  And I was given up by a bunch of jealous villagers.  Seems that even though I look different some men don’t care about that.  They were just grabbing every Bard and Witcher in short distance from one another.  They bagged one and not the other it would appear.” Jaskier rubs at the small cut on is neck</p><p>	“So is he your Bard now, Special One?” Letho’s grin was particularly cruel</p><p>	Jaskier didn't miss the way Eskel flinched at the moniker, “He belongs to all Wolves.” Eskel growls</p><p>	“Thought you weren't a whore Bard?” Letho shoots at Jaskier</p><p>	“Still not.” Jaskier gets to his shaky legs and puts a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, “But I like to think I’m a friend to all Witchers at the very least.  You included.”</p><p>	“What?!” Eskel looked horrified</p><p>	“What?” Letho just looked confused.  He gestured slightly with his dagger, “I just tried to kill you!”</p><p>	“A weekly occurrence at the very least, I assure you.” Jaskier replied with ease, “Meeting a new ally is far less an occurrence.  I refuse to let it pass me by.” he stepped out from behind Eskel</p><p>	“Jaskier, wait…”</p><p>	“You think I’d want to ally myself with someone like you?” Letho sounded offended yet his eyes shown with confusion and his dagger lowered just the slightest bit</p><p>	“I’m still the same person who helped you out of that cell Letho.” Jaskier reasoned and then continued on honestly, “If I found myself in the same situation a week from now I would not hesitate to let you go free once more.” he turned and headed for his bag only a few feet away.  In doing so he turned his back to both of the other men.  He dug in his pack until he found a familiar tin Vesemir had given him.  Pulling it out he started to unscrew it, “Anyone need any numbing salve?  I have plenty.” he turned and offered the tin to a still stunned looking Letho</p><p>	“You…” Letho looked like he’d been slapped</p><p>	Eskel kept his sword up but started to chuckle under his breath, “I’m good Jaskier.” he answered, never one to ignore a question and be rude for it, “Thanks for the offer.”</p><p>	“Well you’ve had your Swallow so you’re probably fine right?” Jaskier asked Letho who, after a few moments, gave a slow nod, “Splendid, more for me.” he took a small amount out of the tin and rubbed it on the sluggishly bleeding wound on his neck</p><p>	“You’re both insane.” Letho sounded so lost</p><p>	“Maybe.  But isn't life more fun that way?” Jaskier asked as he retook his place by the fire</p><p>	Eskel broke out into a full laugh before putting his sword away and whistling loudly.  Scorpion came out of the dark forest around them, L’ill Bleater tied to his reins, and Eskel started to dig around the saddle bags.  Letho still looked unsure as to what to do.  The look only intensified when Eskel took out some tack and jerky of his own and offered some to Jaskier as he sat.  Eventually Eskel chuckled again and looked over at Letho, “Come on Viper.  Meet the Bard that everyone is making such a fuss over.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Coen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coen hates being the youngest of the remaining Witchers.  He can't exactly prove that he is or isn't, this is true.  Both him and the youngest Wolf, Lambert, had a contest several years past that involved alcohol and the bastard had taken first.  Therefore Coen had conceded to being younger, though only by 3 years at the most.  Still, the rumors of that night had eventually spread to most of the Continent.  For some reason being the youngest Witcher meant people were more likely to try and take advantage of you.  Either in mind, work, or even the occasional violating assault on his personage.  But despite Coen’s young status he was still several decades ahead of the average adult human.  Thus, when a brightly clad man of early middle age comes striding up to Coen in the middle of his forest camp the Witcher is instantly on alert.  Despite the lute strapped to the man’s back it’s never wise to underestimate a stranger.</p><p>	“Good day to you Sir Witcher!” the man’s heart doesn't stutter a single bit and his smell resembles a mixture of fresh flowers and a day’s worth of sweat.  His smile makes the corners of bright eyes crinkle with genuine mirth.  The small beard looks well oiled and groomed despite a few split ends here or there.  As do the longish locks that are just starting to drag below shoulder level, “I hope I’m not interrupting you during anything important.  It’s just, well…” the scent of shame starts to permeate the air, “I got a bit lost.”</p><p>	Coen tries to offer a smile.  No need to be hostile just yet to this seeming honest man.  Something about the man’s demeanor reminds him of several older Griffin's.  Those who truly lived the knightly path.  Though perhaps that was due to how Bards generally were, “There might be a reason for that.  It’s good you happened upon me before the creature.”</p><p>	“Creature!?” instead of the fear Coen had prepared for a sort of excitement starts to emanate from the man.  His fingers twitch, as do his ears, “Forest, nature, getting lost...wolves?” he looks around with a kind of curious glee</p><p>	“Um...yes.  They have moved on for the night but they may yet return.” Coen was unsure how to handle this sort of reaction.</p><p>	“So it’s a Leshen then!” the man still doesn't smell of fear.  Or, if he does, Coen can’t detect it over the swell of excitement, “Greater Ancient?”</p><p>	“Of course not!” Coen is appalled by the implication, “Without a Druid there would be no sense in going after it alone.”</p><p>	“Oh?” the man looks confused for a moment before some kind of realization seems to wash over him, “Yes, of course, my apologies.  Not everyone can...well, it’s a rare skill is what I mean to say.” the man straightens up suddenly and bows just as quickly, “My apologies, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Dandelion, Bard of the Continent.”</p><p>	“Dandelion?  The one who wrote Witcher Dances With Nymphs?” </p><p>	“To be fair, that was on a bet.” despite Dandelion’s words he appears oddly proud.  He is also dropping his pack by Coen’s fire and starting to sit down, “So, if it’s not a Greater Leshen I assume it won’t be too big of a problem...right?”</p><p>	“That is the hope.  Depending on how well I take care of the wolves obviously.” Coen says with just a hint of bitter sarcasm.  He had asked the villagers to aid him with the beasts.  If they had it would have almost assured his victory.  But of course they had told him they weren't paying to get more of their lads killed.  A fair point, still…</p><p>	It seems the Bard misses his sarcasm because he simply nods, “Obviously.  Though, given the size of this mountain range and the time of year I doubt it’s as many beasts as you fear.  Perhaps only seven.”</p><p>	Coen lets out a bark of shocked laughter, “Oh, you overestimate me Sir Bard.  Though Witcher I may be, I’m still flesh and blood.”</p><p>	“You...right, right.  I keep forgetting.” a vague statement related to Coen’s strength yet again.  Perhaps it was about his status as the youngest.  Although, Coen had yet to introduce himself.  Looking down he could see his medallion was visible, so perhaps that was it?  The Bard sighs and reaches into his travel bag, “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to come up with a plan.” the man pulls a fragrant smelling pouch and a pipe from his bag, “Will you join me Sir Witcher?  I have a feeling the wolves flock to their master this night and shall leave us alone as they guard him.”</p><p>	“You’re probably right about that.” Coen admits as he sits down watching Dandelion work with the herbs in his little pouch until the bowl of his wooden pipe is filled, “I’ve yet to introduce myself, I must fix this transgression.  I am Coen of the Griffin School.  And I would be honored if you shared my camp this evening.”</p><p>	“The honor would be shared, for I always value the presence of a Witcher.  Such wonderful Beings you are.  Full of mystery and bravery and cunning the like of which humans could only hope to aspire.”</p><p>	Coen feels the tips of his ears heating up as he watches the Bard take a lit stick from the fire and use that to light the herb in his pipe, “That is...a very kind thing to say.” the pipe is suddenly being offered to him and Coen’s suppressed suspicion rises like phoenix from the ashes, “I shall pass for the moment.  But I appreciate the offer.”</p><p>	“To each their own Sir Coen.” Coen must show some kind of reaction because Dandelion grins impishly from behind his slightly overgrown mustache, “You like the title, yes?  I was led to believe that the Griffins had chivalry to rival the Knights of Toussaint.  Seems only fair I treat you as such.”</p><p>	Coen knows his ears are bright red now.  He’s almost sure this man is trying to woo him.  Or at least, he would think so if not for the purely innocent smells drifting across the fire.  No lust, for flesh or blood.  Simply the sweet smell of the herb and excited curiosity.  So, after clearing his throat, Coen said, “If you wish to address me like that you may.”</p><p>	“Excellent!” Dandelion exclaims with a laugh of pure mirth while continuing to smoke his pipe, “Oh, how I wish I could play right now.” he looks forlornly over his shoulder at the lute case still strung on his back, “But I’m certain it would attract the the wolves more surely than anything else.” a cheeky wink, “After all, twas music that soothed the heart of the beast.”</p><p>	Coen grins, his embarrassment lost in the wake of this charming character, “So some say.  Depends on the beast.”</p><p>	“True.” Dandelion nodded sagely as he tapped the insides of his pipe, pushing unburned herb down onto the still glowing ember that existed in the well of it, “Beasts of drink require something joyful, beasts of battle feast on notes epic and strong, while beasts of grief appreciate the soothing tones of sweetness and melancholy.”</p><p>	“What about Witchers?” Coen asks before he can stop himself</p><p>	Dandelion stiffens and meets Coen’s eyes squarely, “Witchers are not fickle enough to be soothed by simple songs.  For they are not beasts.  They are saviors who deserve nothing but the most wonderful ballads.”</p><p>	“Such as ones about making love to nymphs?” Coen tries to joke.  That look is making him uncomfortable.  Luckily his attempt is successful as the Bard barks out a single laugh and takes one last hard pull on his pipe.</p><p>	Eyes slightly clouded but filled with mirth Dandelion declares, “On a bet!  But still, yes, stories must be told.  Embellishment is an artist’s liberty of course.  The truth still exists though.” a short pause, “Just look at Master Jaskier’s works.  A wonderful example.”</p><p>	“You mean that wanted Bard who followed the White Wolf around?” Coen asked with a raised eyebrow, “I suppose his songs are rather outlandish, if based in any kind of real truth to start with.”</p><p>	Dandelion blinked and smirked in a sort of dark amusement, “You think they’re lies instead of mere exaggeration?”</p><p>	“They would have to be, at least for the most part.” Coen pointed out as Dandelion pulled a half loaf of bread from his bag and started taking pieces from it, “Otherwise that Bard would have died long ago.  Though if Nilfgaard has their way he won’t be around much longer.” Coen blinked when a chunk of bread bounced off his chest</p><p>	“I feel the need to defend my profession sir.  I’ll have you know that most Bards are far smarter and more skilled than most give them credit for.  I’ve even heard a few wise souls use my sort to do their spying.  Not that I’d ever allow myself to get caught up in such nasty business.” Despite the wink and chuckle Coen thinks he might detect the first stuttered heartbeat.  But it’s gone before he can confirm it as Dandelion continues, “And for the record, I personally am a master in several forms of self defense.”</p><p>	“Oh?” Coen raised an eyebrow along with the corner of his mouth, “Any particular technique you’re proud of?  I’ll admit that I’ve never learned the fighting style of an Artist before.”</p><p>	“Ha, is that so?” Dandelion puts down his bread and stands, stretching his arms over his head.  As he does so his shirt pushes against his chest and rides up to expose just a slight bit of the Bard’s pale stomach.  Added along with the groan caused by the stretch and Coen finds himself feeling oddly off step all of a sudden.  As he lowers his arms Dandelion’s blue eyes lock with Coen’s.  The look there says he’s already figured out something Coen is just starting to comprehend, “I’m not sure if you want me to perform in such a way.” the man crept around the fire, almost like a cat slinking up to its prey.  Despite the open air around them Coen feels suddenly short of breath.  The Bard passes through the edges of Coen’s personal space.  The smell of that herb clinging to silk mixes with the lingering lilac that follows Dandelion around.  Underneath it all is something Coen can only describe as heat.  It almost makes him jump when Dandelion reaches out and runs a single finger down Coen’s jaw, “Monsters may be your specialty, but people are mine.” he leans in and Coen shivers when he whispers in the Witcher’s ear, “And I’m very good at what I do Sir Coen.”</p><p>	Coen does jump this time when something sharp and metal slides gently over the top of his right leg.  Coen blinks out of the haze Dandelion had created and looked down to see the shining dagger poised over a lethal spot in his thigh.  The way the blade is held in slender fingers is so casual it can only come from hard earned experience.  It also indicates that Coen is in no actual danger of being stabbed.  His shock bubbles up into rumbling laughter that the Bard soon shares.  The man falls back so he’s sitting next to Coen, “That was indeed something I’ve never had to fight against.” Coen admits, trying to cut through the oddly warm atmosphere that hangs in the air</p><p>	“A shame.  That face deserves to be flattered.” Seems Dandelion isn’t as eager to break this tension.  His smile and eyes are warm though.  Coen already knows if he chooses to push the man away that he’ll go willingly.  But now that the option is there Coen isn't sure he wants that.  He could die tomorrow, as is his eternal burden.  He’s long ago gotten rid of any kind of hang ups when it comes to where his pleasure comes from.  And it’s not often he doesn't pay for it these days.  A hand on his cheek makes Coen start.  He’d been lost in thought.  Those kind blue eyes sparkle at him in the firelight, “I have no expectations Sir Coen.  But know that no matter what happens tonight I shall accompany you up the hill on the morrow.  I’ll take care of the wolves while you fight your creature.  And perhaps then you will get a true showing of my Artistic styles.”</p><p>	“I’d like to know some now.” Coen admits as he leans forward</p><p>--------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------</p><p>	Coen shouts in rage as his sword drives itself through the Leshen’s already damaged neck.  As the bark and vines crumble to dust the remaining deer skull stares up at Coen with empty eyes.  Only when the last of the creature vanishes does Coen turn and let himself search the treeline of the clearing, “Dandelion!” he calls in mild fear.  </p><p>	The fight had started with the pair splitting up. Dandelion with a smirk and Coen with a silent prayer to any Gods listening that the Bard would face the wolves and live to tell the tale.  Shortly after Coen’s own fight had begun the Leshen had called for it’s servants.  That’s when the explosions had started.  Not many, but not too few either.  Perhaps five or six mildly earth shaking eruptions followed by clouds of dirt puffing up over the trees.  Coen tried not to lose focus but he recalled several wolves crying out in pain as well as a single human cry that harmonized in an almost haunting way.</p><p>	“Over here Sir Coen.” Dandelion emerges from a rather dense area of foliage.  His green silk shirt is torn on one arm, a bit of blood staining the fabric, but other than that he looks well.  He’s even beaming and holding what looks like a bunch of wolf tails, “Seems I underestimated the animals in the area.” he gestured to his injured arm as Coen took out his White Honey and started to sip at it, “Nine of the foul beasts!  All bested by yours truly but not without the sacrifice of a rather fine doublet.” </p><p>	“A true shame.” Coen says with a smile of his own that he hopes hides his full relief at seeing the Bard alive, “A wonder you didn't do worse, like blow yourself up.  Assuming you were the one to cause all the noise that is.”</p><p>	“Guilty as charged.  My teacher would be proud.  Though he’d probably tell me how I could have gone a bit bigger with it.  Damned fool of a Witcher doesn't know when to hold off on the explosions I suppose.”</p><p>	Coen blinked, his smile freezing on his face, “You learned to make bombs from a Witcher.” a smirking face fills his memories and a cold chill creeps up his spine, “And he liked them bigger than normal?” </p><p>	“Ah, that is…” Dandelion ran his fingers through his hair. </p><p>	Coen felt like such a fool, “You’re the Bard Jaskier.” it wasn't a question</p><p>	“Damn.” Dandelion, now revealed to be Jaskier by the sheer resignation leaking off of him, slumps against the closest tree “It’s always the Witchers.  Humans, not a problem.  I keep my mouth as shut as an Aldermans coffer.  But get me around one Witcher and the whole thing crumbles.” he offers a half hearted grin and a wink, “I’d call it a limp defense of mine but I think you already know…”</p><p>	“I’m not going to turn you in.” is the first thing Coen can think to say before Dande...Jaskier devolves into a rant of nerves, “As far as I’m concerned I’m talking to Dandelion.” he smiles at the slightly stunned expression the Bard presents, “Just promise to tell Lambert he owes me a rematch on that competition we have going.”</p><p>	“Tell him yourself.” the Bard says, matching Coen’s expression as his shoulders relaxed, “There is always more room at Kaer Morhen.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ivo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything hurt.  That was the first thing Ivo registered.  After that was the half hot, half cold sensation of sitting near a small fire in the open night air.  Lastly, Ivo felt mild confusion at the fire itself.  It was too small to be a fire of Hel, nor his pain intense enough to be from the torture of the cursed dead.  Considering the last thing Ivo remembered was having his gut split open and falling off a cliff he thought he had a right to his momentary emotion.  After a few seconds of drifting from thought to thought Ivo stretched out his perception just a bit more.  The fire was the most prominent thing, followed by the smell of food.  No meat, mostly vegetables.  Perhaps a broth of some kind?  Under the delicious aroma were traces of human scents.  Day old sweat, lavender and chamomile oil, along with ink and paper.  The heartbeat that made itself heard over the sounds of a crackling fire indicated only one other Being present.  A Being who, at the moment, sounded calm as they shuffled around the area</p><p>	“Hmm…” a male tone hummed in consideration out of nowhere, “...perhaps a lower key?” This statement was followed by humming of a more musical nature.  A tune that Ivo had never heard before.  Not a hard feat considering Ivo didn't tend toward that variety of entertainment.  The humming stopped for a moment before starting over at a much lower register than before.  After a few minutes of this the humming stopped and the man could be heard shuffling in Ivo’s direction, “Not sure I can go low enough to properly depict those shoulders of yours Master Witcher.” the man said as he knelt by Ivo.  The smell of lavender grew tenfold.  In Ivo’s experience, only Nobles ever wore that much fragrance.  But Nobles would never lower themselves to help a mere Witcher, let alone address one with such a soft and teasing tone.  A few more noises and then the scent of medicinal herbs grew to overtake the lingering lavender, “Perhaps I would come up with something better if I had happened upon you in a more healthy state?  No changing that now I suppose.  I’m sure we’ll figure it out once you’ve woken.” more movement and then...something touched his exposed middle.</p><p>	With more reflex then actual available energy Ivo snatched the thin fingers poking at his torso.  The man above let out a light squeak as Ivo finally managed to open his eyes.  Everything was blurred for a few moments before two blue eyes met the Witcher’s.  Ivo found himself feeling confusion anew at the lack of fear or anger in that gaze.  Ivo took in the fluffy brown hair, looking freshly cut around the man’s ears and brow.  A thin mustache hovered like a shadow above the man’s top lip.  Ivo followed the line of a thin pale neck down to narrow shoulders and finally to the point where the two of them were currently making contact.  Ivo felt his confusion grow and join with a second feeling, surprise.  His stomach and chest, while bare to the elements in general, were well bandaged.  There was little red spotting around his belly button and lower chest but other than that it looked like fine work.  Ivo could also see that his lover half was covered in a blanket yet his left leg stuck out closer to the fire.  More bandages were wrapped around Ivo’s calf and ankle, this time accompanied by a rather firm splint.</p><p>	“Excuse me, Master Witcher?” Ivo looked back to those blue eyes.  Eyes that were looking from Ivo’s own, down to where Ivo held his fingers, and then back at Ivo with extreme nervousness, “I understand your reluctance to trust me.  But I promise I mean no harm.  And I’d very much appreciate it if you didn't break the fingers of this humble Bard.  I require them for work.” </p><p>	A Bard?  Ivo flexes his hand around the fingers in his grasp.  The man gasps, first traces of fear only just starting to emerge from him.  But Ivo ignores it to focus on the feel of the skin.  Calluses in the right place for a musician or scholar.  There were a few related to weapons but they are so much softer than the others.  With little options available given his current level of fatigue Ivo lets go of the fingers slowly.  The smell of fear vanishes instantly and the man, instead of backing up, leans over Ivo a bit more.</p><p>	“I’m glad you can hear and understand me.  Or at least I’m hoping you can?” he raises a pleading eyebrow at Ivo.  Ivo just stares back.  After a moment, smile still firmly in place, the man tuts, “Another strong silent type, it figures.  And after all that trouble I went through putting you back together.  And I mean that in every way Master Witcher.” the man’s smile dims slightly, eyes going a bit foggy, “I’ve seen far too much of your insides to last me three lifetimes.” as quickly as the melancholy comes it seems to vanish, though a sour scent of anxiety lingers for a bit, “Regardless, you should make a full recovery.  Perhaps a few days?  No more than a week at the most I’m sure given your Witcher healing.” the man picks something up from next to where he is knelt and shows it to Ivo.  It’s a tin where the smell of medicinal herbs originates from a thick white paste, “Still, a little help never hurt.  And it seems to be keeping most of the inflammation down.” the free hand twitches back toward Ivo’s torso, “I’d really like to change the dressing if you aren't opposed.”</p><p>	Ivo gives a single nod, and even that feels like too much.  Before he can really fathom it his world becomes dark once more.</p><p>---------------------------------BREAK----------------------------------</p><p>	When next he wakes Ivo is surrounded by sunshine.   And a pot has been set on the embers that linger around the edges of the still warm fire pit.  Ivo spots several travel packs, an unfamiliar horse, and a lute case leaning against the closest tree.  There is also a small cloth set out on the ground nearby that has an assortment of dried herbs laid out.  Ivo looks down at himself when he comes to the conclusion that he is alone.  His bandages have no red spots.  Ivo tempts fate and slowly tries to sit up.  While there is pain it’s not nearly as much as he expected.  The Bard did good work it seemed.    Sitting up gives him a better angle from which to see the splint still wrapped around his leg.  Ivo tries to wiggle his toes and gives an internal sigh of relief when they move without issue.  He isn't sure exactly what happened to his leg.  Though he’d venture to guess it had something to do with the fall.  Thinking of the circumstances that brought him here Ivo takes a closer look at the forest around him.  He’s confused when he can’t see the cliff through the trees.  Just how far had that man managed to move Ivo?  The Witcher wasn't a dainty maiden after all.  And with his armor he weighed...Ivo looked around the camp as a new realisation filled his mind.  He didn't have his armor or swords!  And he didn't see those items among the Bard’s belongings.  Perhaps the man had had to leave them behind to move Ivo?  If so Ivo hoped the Bard had at least the good sense to hide them somewhere safe.  Thinking of the man had Ivo scenting the air, trying to figure out how long he’d been alone here.  Judging by the lingering floral scent it could only have been a few hours.  Though that was still too long for a bath or a shit so Ivo wondered what the man might be doing.  Given his current state Ivo resigned himself to the fact he would probably have to wait here until the Bard returned to inquire about such things.</p><p>	Ivo’s stomach roared, distracting the Witcher from his wandering thoughts.  He hadn't eaten in about a day before everything happened.  Food had been part of his promised reward.  Growling at the memory of those sneering faces Ivo looks back to the pot sitting on the fire’s embers.  The smell he remembers from last night, vegetable broth, still emanates from beneath the worn looking lid of the cook pot.  Ivo can’t fully stand yet.  But he manages a slow sort of half crawl, only pulling at his wounds once, that brings him next to the lukewarm metal appliance.  Lifting the lid releases more steam than Ivo anticipated and his mouth immediately starts to salivate.  Only years of training and self control allow Ivo to pick up a small wooden bowl nearby to help him eat instead of simply dunking his head directly into the food.  He uses the bowl more like a spoon with how ravenously he eats.  His injured stomach eventually pains him in a warning way and Ivo forces himself to put the bowl down and replace the lid on the pot to try and keep the broth warm for as long as possible.  Perhaps his gut would ease and let him have a bit more later.</p><p>	Noises from the treeline drew Ivo’s attention.  It was the Bard that emerged from the foliage.  The sight of his armor and swords being dragged along on some kind of makeshift pallet made Ivo slightly more at ease.  Ivo didn't even consider that this man would withhold the Witcher’s possessions.  Despite their limited interactions Ivo somehow knew this man wasn't out for his blood like the others who had been after some foolish bounty.  As the man smiled at him it occurred to Ivo that the bounty had also included a Bard, “I see you found the food!” the man chirps, actually chirps, with delight when his eyes land on Ivo, “Not too difficult to reach I hope?” Ivo just lets his eyes drift from the man’s face down to the pile of armor and weapons, “Yes, I thought this might cheer you up.  I had to leave them behind last time.  No offense to you Sir Witcher but you are rather bulky.  Suppose that is the curse of the Bears though.”</p><p>	Ivo instinctually reaches up to touch the medallion that no longer sits on his chest.  Memories from his defeat include that precious symbol being ripped from around his neck.  How had the Bard known when even Ivo was starting to question if he deserved the title of Bear at all?</p><p>	“Not to worry, I have what you’re looking for!” The Bard’s excited cry had Ivo blinking back at the strange man who was coming closer quickly while digging in the pockets of his trousers, “Give me just a moment to....AH!” and with a loud cry of triumph the Bard pulled something from the depth of his silks as he knelt down at Ivo’s side.  With a beaming smile the man held out his hand, palm up, “I believe this belongs to you.”</p><p>	Ivo stares at the snarling silver bear medallion that glared up at him from the Bard’s hand.  With two large fingers Ivo reaches out to take hold of the chain dangling through the man’s fingers.  Ivo lifts the chain and brings the dangling silver closer to his face, letting his eyes roam over every inch.  On a whim he sniffs it and his brows wrinkle when he catches a whiff of blood that is not his own.  Turning the medallion over he spots a single drop maring the shining surface.  </p><p>	The Bard tuts, “Drat, I missed a spot.” Ivo tenses and starts to edge away when the man quickly supplies, “That fool of a bounty hunter bled all over it during our struggle.  I did my best to wash away his filthy fluid but it seems I could have done better.” the man stands and turns to walk back over to his little pallet where Ivo’s things still lay, “Honestly, there shouldn't have been a fight at all.  My trap would have worked perfectly if they hadn't split up like that.  The sleeping powder can only cover so much area without additional help.  What a waste of materials, and not cheap ones either!” the Bard finishes moving his bundle over to Ivo as he rants his nonsense.  But Ivo can at least understand one thing.  This man is more dangerous than he appears, and he’s also on Ivo’s side...for tnow at least.</p><p>	Ivo slowly reaches for his steel sword.  The Bard remains completely relaxed as he starts to flit around the camp messing with various things.  Letting his eyes fall away from the man, Ivo inspects his sword.  Despite still being dirty from the tussle on the cliffs it appears undamaged for the most part.  The silver blade is less lucky.  The pummel is bent at an awkward angle.  It would dig into his arm if he tried using it in battle.  Already feeling the loss to his purse Ivo moved on to examining his armor.  A few new blood stains and tears were present but easily remedied.  Ivo raised an eyebrow when he found two full coin pouches laying under his bracers.  One was easily identified as his own, though far more bulging than he remembered.  The other one, equally full, was an unfamiliar yellow.  Ivo picked it up and sniffed it.  Ivo wasn't even surprised to smell the stench of the men who had betrayed him.  Casting a look back at the Bard Ivo croaked out, “Who are you?” His voice sounded more like a gravelly growl than actual words</p><p>	The Bard jumped in surprise and spun to stare wide eyed at Ivo, hand over the now rapidly beating heart in his chest, “You speak!” he blinked, “I think you do anyway.” he reached over next to the lute case and pulled out a water skin, “Seems the broth was not enough after three days with limited fluids.” Ivo tried not to react to the <em>three days</em> realization as the Bard offered his water, “Here dear, drink this and try again.”</p><p>	Ivo accepted the offering and took several deep swallows.  While the broth had soothed his hunger Ivo found the water cooled a burning he hadn't even known existed.  His last mouthful was mildly gargled and spit out.  With it came dried chunks of blood and bile.  The Bard winced at the sight.  Ivo met the Bard’s gaze directly as he handed the waterskin back and asked once more, “Who are you?”</p><p>	The man beamed, “I’m so glad you asked!” he took a few steps back and bowed deeply at Ivo, “Dandelion the Mater Bard, teller of stories and singer of truths.  At your service Master Witcher.”</p><p>	Not a lie as far as Ivo could tell.  So perhaps this man had also been misidentified by the bounty hunters?  If so it was becoming increasingly clear they had made a fatal mistake.  Ivo noticed the Bard was staring at him with anticipation and realized it was probably his turn for introductions, “Ivo of Belhaven, Bear Witcher.” Ivo said simply</p><p>	“A pleasure.” Dandelion straightened back to his full height and returned to puttering around the fire.  Although this time his movements were accompanied by a stream of commentary, “I must say, I was surprised when those foolish fellows alluded to taking down such a large Witcher.  Or any Witcher at all really.  I know a man who's a bit on the small side as far as Witcher’s go and I’m sure he could still kick half the asses in Oxenfurt before he even became winded.” the Bard laughed at his own joke but didn't pause for an answer before he continued, “It must have something to do with a Monster right?  Perhaps you were hunting one when they ambushed you?  Or did they wait until you had finished before ganging up on you?  I know I took down at least 5 before the rest turned tail and ran.  Shame I only just missed the leader.  I swear he must have held his breath when the bomb went off.  Oh well.  Hopefully finding the bodies of their friends in the barn will give them more pause next time.” The grin Dandelion shot over his shoulder was downright feral.  In fact, Ivo could swear he’d seen that exact same grin somewhere already.  Almost wolf like.  Before he could figure out where the Bard was back to talking.  This time he did so while removing his lute from its case and checking that it was tuned, “In any case I’m sure they’ll think twice about their chosen profession, or at least consider contracts more carefully in the future.” he started to strum on the stringed instrument, producing what Ivo recognized as a slightly different version of the song he’d been humming the night before, “I swear, I’m about to storm down to Nilfgaard myself and demand King Emyhr be more specific than <em> ‘Find the Witcher or his Bard.’</em>  I mean really, don’t bounties normally have more information than that?!  How am I supposed to make a living this way?!”</p><p>	Ivo thought those words over.  While Witchers didn't do something as human as gossip there was still a bit of a small rumor mill.  It moved at the rate of a glacier most years but it still existed.  And last Ivo had heard the only Witcher involved with a Bard was a member of the Wolf School.  Geralt, because wasn't it always these days.  But what could the fucking Wolf have done to piss off yet another King when most Witchers stayed well clear of Nilfgaard?</p><p>	<em> Large as a mountain</em><br/>	<em> Calm as a lake</em><br/>	<em> And the tone of his voice</em><br/>	<em> Makes the very ground quake</em></p><p>	<em> But fear not kind people</em><br/>	<em> For Bear though he be</em><br/>	<em> He means not one bit of harm</em><br/>	<em> To you or to me</em></p><p>	Ivo raised an eyebrow, “Looking to make yourself a larger target?”</p><p>	Dandelion sighed and continued to strum as he responded, “I see your point.  But surely you could see mine as well.  Witchers are such a wonderful source of inspiration.  Full of stories that heat the blood and stir up wanderlust in young hearts.” that sharp grin again, “And I can handle myself, as you have learned.”</p><p>	Ivo started to go over the condition of his boots as he added, “It’s illogical to cause more trouble for yourself.”</p><p>	Dandelion chuckled, “True.  But if I was averse to a bit of trouble I wouldn't have become a Bard.” he continued singing again, though in an obvious tease this time</p><p>	<em> Poor Ivo does worry</em><br/>	<em> Like a sad mother hen</em><br/>	<em> Hiding poor hunted Bards</em><br/>	<em> In his warm winter den </em></p><p>	<em> But the Bear should not fear</em><br/>	<em> For the Bard is well kept</em><br/>	<em> Every year in the winter</em><br/>	<em> Up the mountains he’s swept</em></p><p>	Dandelion winks after his last line and says mildly, “I’m sure there would be a place up there for you too if you wanted, Ivo of Belhaven.”</p><p>	“Fucking knew something was off with you.” Ivo says as a fluttering of amusement builds in his chest.  He’ll do the Bard the courtesy of not saying the joke they now share aloud.  And even as he chuckles, the Bard joining him, Ivo wonders what Winter is like in the mountains.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Be sure to let me know what you thought with a comment or kudos &lt;3<br/>Have a great weekend everyone!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dragonfly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the smell that gets Dragonfly’s attention first.  Heavy on the wind and far too chemical to be natural.  Only a few steps off the beaten path brought sounds to accompany the odd scent.</p><p>	“My eyes!  By the Gods and all their testicles!”</p><p>	The curse alone was enough to make Dragonfly smirk and continue toward its source.  The closer she got the stronger the smell became.  By the time she reached the bank of a small creek the odor had started to almost burn her sensitive nose.  And the grumbling and swearing had turned into a rather bitter sounding rant.</p><p>	“It’ll be easy she says.  Just a few washes she says. Can’t use the brothel bath for such things she says.  Bah!  A lot of fluff and nonsense.  I’m sure they’re all having a good chuckle at my expense this very minute.  See if this Master Bard plays for you ungrateful tarts again.  Blast it all!  Again with the eyes!”</p><p>	Dragonfly came around the creekbed in time to see a man scrubbing at his eyes with a wet rag.  But that's not the interesting part for her.  The man, half naked and standing in the middle of the creek, had a multicolored mess on his head.  Perhaps the locks had once been a rather rich brown.  But now they’re a mixture of different blonds, tans, and yellows that hangs just below the ears.  Dragonfly hardly held in a snort of laughter as she headed over to the small camp set up not far away. A lute case leaned against a tree next to a bulging travel pack.  Next to the bag is a package wrapped in linen where most of the chemical smell emanated from.  A quick peek inside shows several different compounds and powders all neatly labeled.  Considering the state of the man’s hair it wasn't hard to figure out the purpose of the supplies.</p><p>	“Aarrghh!”</p><p>	This scream held the high pitch of fear instead of pain.  Turning, Dragonfly realized she’d been spotted.  It took everything in her to stop from laughing.  While his hair was patchy blonde the man’s facial hair was as brown as late Autumn bark, making him look like some miss colored doll.  The man was dragging his blue eyes all over her slender form.  Though she noted his gaze didn't land on the usual spots.  Instead it lingered on her boots,leather armour, and finally came to a stop on the twin blades strapped to her back.  Letting a sharp smirk form on her face, Dragonfly gave a casual wave, “Hello there.”</p><p>	“Yes, hello.'' The man’s eyes quickly shot to a pile of clothing laid out on a sunny rock before flashing back to Dragonfly, “I hope this is simply a happy accident my lady.  Otherwise I may become nervous.”</p><p>	“Of little ol’ me?” Dragonfly showed off just a bit of fang</p><p>	The man let out a bark of genuine laughter, “I’m smart enough to be wary of those who seemingly appear from nowhere.  Regardless of how beautiful their eyes are.” he winked</p><p>	This time it was Dragonfly who laughed.  Not many noticed the tell-tale golden hue of her eyes at first glance.  Mostly due to the rarity that was a female Witcher, “You’ve nothing to fear from me.  Unless of course you’re a new variety of Drowner.”</p><p>	“Thankfully not.” the man took a hesitant step toward the bank, “Though I must indeed look a sight.” he motioned to his hair, both head and facial, and took another half step forward</p><p>	Dragonfly wrinkled her nose at the reminder of what had initially brought her to this creek bank, “The smell is worse.  But not by much.  You remind me of a cat that's fallen in a mud puddle.”</p><p>	“I’d probably be offended if I didn't agree with you.” the man replied as he finally reached his laid out clothing.  He didn't instantly reach for his linen though, instead pointing at the foul smelling collection at Dragonfly’s feet, “Perhaps if you pass me a bit more of that I can rectify the situation.”</p><p>	“I was under the impression you were shit with the stuff.  Given all the cursing.” Dragonfly picks up the bundle and swings it slightly from side to side, “Why do something like this anyway?”  The lass in your life prefere lighter hair?”</p><p>	“More like the opposite.” The man said with a tad of bitter humor, “I’m hoping a different style might deter my pursuer.” he reaches out for the bag but Dragonfly moves it out of his range.  He started to look a bit nervous again, “Please ma’am, may I have my things?”</p><p>	Dragonfly couldn't stop a special sort of smile from forming on her face.  And, just like her brothers had in the past, the man before her started to look a whole different kind of uneasy, “How about I help you out?  You obviously can’t see what spots you’re missing.  And after that…” she reached out slowly, chuckling at the way those blue eyes followed her fingers all the way to their resting place in his hanging beard hairs, “...we can get rid of this nasty thing.”</p><p>	It seemed words threatened the man more than touches because this finally made him flinch back slightly, “Are you serious?  I’ll admit to having grown rather attached to it, pardon the pun.”</p><p>	Dragonfly let her smile dim slightly and pulled her hand back to run a thumb over her own eyebrows, “You can’t have yellow hair and brown brows Bard.  Darkish stubble is doable in a pinch, so you’ll have no problem in that regard.  But if you want this to really stick you’ll have to make sure it looks natural.  The brows are easy enough.”</p><p>	“But the beard is tougher to keep up with.” the man finished her thought with a sort of wistful tone.  His hands moved up to his hair and played with the tips, “Do you think I should shorten this as well?”</p><p>	“Hmm.” Dragonfly gave that some serious thought, “The longer it is the more people will assume it’s natural...I think.” she concluded</p><p>	A little more tension eased from the man as he sighed, “At least there's that.” all at once the man’s eyes widened and the smell of surprise was so strong it managed to reach her nose before being washed away by the river, “Oh my, where have my manners gotten to!?” with unexpected grace the man straightened and then bent in an elaborate bow, “I am known as Master Bard Dandelion.  I write ballads to celebrate the truly wonderful things in life, be they sad or elating or even titillating.” he looked up and winked good naturedly at her</p><p>	“I’ve heard a few of your bawdier ballads Bard.” Dragonfly admitted as she started going through the bag in her hands, “I’m pretty sure I know what to do with all of this stuff.  So, let’s make you look like your namesake Master Dandelion.”</p><p>	“Only if you grace me with your own name Mistress Witcher.” even though he says that he turns his back to her, who only minutes ago he had been so cautious of, “Perhaps you could also tell me your School?  I can’t seem to catch sight of your Medallion.”</p><p>	The bottom drops out of Dragonfly’s stomach.  This is the part she always hates.  She knows how this will play out.  Dragonfly will try and avoid the question.  This will lead to either more suspicion and demands or Dandelion will assure her that he’s not going to care what School she belongs to.  But regardless of which direction the man chooses to take she’ll gladly admit the truth.  Because after that she can slip back into the familiar skin of Cat Witcher.  Hated by humans and left to travel alone until she meets up with the Caravan near Winter.  </p><p>	It seems her hesitation is noticed.  Those blue eyes are looking at her over a pale shoulder, “Do you not want to say?  It’s alright if you don’t.  Honestly, I’ve already created quite an interesting history for you.  Would you like to hear it?” he asks as he turns back to dunk his head in the water</p><p>	Dragonfly just blinks for a few moments.  This is not a scenario she had ever encountered.  So she decided to wing it, her curiosity brimming high, “Sure, you can tell it to me while I mix more of this nasty goop.” </p><p>	Just as the scent starts to burn her nostrils Dandelion speaks, “Long ago, far from normal civilization, there is a castle.  Not a grand or ornate castle.  A sturdy thing, practical.  Just like the stern women who run it.  The long ostracized female only Witchers, the Lark School.  Feared by all for their versatile and unpredictable nature.  So beautiful that even the Sorceresses were envious of them.  Strong enough to put even the mighty Bear School to shame.  All were trained to protect the territory where they lived, and to only ever use the knowledge to keep the castle safe.  For if any ever left and were found by another Witcher they would be killed on the spot.” Dandelion’s voice had taken on such a serious tone that Dragonfly couldn't help but give him her full attention.  Her trance was broken though when he turned and gestured at his head, “So, want to start with this while I finish the rest?”</p><p>	“There’s more?!” Dragonfly’s mind spun with possibilities.  Of course the Bard was miles from the truth.  But what an interesting story it was.  Especially for someone like her.  As far as Dragonfly knew she was two or three of a kind.  The thought of a whole School was fascinating.</p><p>	“Of course!” Dandelion beamed, “Let me spin you a tale my Lady.  Consider it thanks for attending to me in my time of need.”</p><p>	And then the Bard spins a tale so magical and wondrous that Dragonfly feels like a small child listening to the older students in the Caravan.  As she kneads the horrible mixture into the soft hair a smooth baritone weaves pictures in her mind.  A single woman who wanted to break from Lark School tradition and go out to protect the people.  Damned be the ostracized state of their school, she would do what Witchers were meant to do.  And despite being met with nothing but fear and hardship the woman continued her journey onward.  By the time Dragonfly was working on shaving off the beard Dandelion was telling a story about a little boy who was lost in the woods and was saved from wolves by the Lark Witcher.  The boy’s parents were so grateful that they gave the Lark shelter for the night and in the morning sent her off with a few rations for her journey forward.  As Dandelion told of the Lark walking into the sunset that very event was taking place and a roaring fire was sitting between the two of them.</p><p>	Dragonfly didn't hesitate to pull out her bottle of wine as she praised the Bard for his storytelling, “That was amazing!  Did you really come up with it all just tonight?”</p><p>	Dandelion rubbed at his freshy colored eyebrows, obviously still feeling a slight itch from the chemicals, “I’ll admit, the thought of female Witchers had crossed my mind before.  There’s this girl...anyway, I’d considered what a proper legend might consist of.  It’s nice to know someone like you appreciates it.  I’d hate to offend a single lady.”</p><p>	“I’m getting that impression.  Though I also get the feeling you’re not above a little adultery every now and then.” it wasn't a blatant offer.  Just a poke at the Bard’s intentions.  Because even though he’d been casual so far it never hurt to check before the real drinking got started.  Humans tended to get grabby when they drank.  And it would be a shame to have to drown Dandelion in the river after they had finally gotten his hair so evenly yellow.</p><p>	“In my younger days most claimed that was the only thing I was capable of.” Dandelion replies with equal parts shame and pride, “I’ll admit that I left many angry husbands and fathers behind.  But I promise I never left a woman unsatisfied or in tears.” he looked her square in the eye, “And I want to be clear, I never took a partner who didn't ask me first.” he leaned back and looked up at the sky, the linen shirt that now fell from his shoulders did a good job of hiding the definition in those shoulders that Dragonfly remembered from the river, “In recent years I find myself becoming a bit more romantic as opposed to simply carnal in the love that I crave.  Some in my profession call it being picky.” Dandelion laughed to the sky</p><p>	The mention of love brought Dragonfly’s mind all the way back to their very first conversation about his hair, “And one of these undesired partners hates fair colored hair right?”</p><p>	The mood shifts like a cold breeze through the warm night, “It’s more like they won’t even think to look for me this way.  That’s the hope at least.  I’m sure you can understand the need to disappear for a bit every now and then.”</p><p>	“Won’t that hair make you stand out more?” Dragonfly asked, trying not to sound too curious.  It was hard given her general nature.</p><p>	“Sometimes the best place to hide is in plane sight.  It’s such a drastic change that only a fool would really try it.  Does that make sense?” Dandelion tilted his head and laughed a single loud note at the stars, “Perhaps not.  But it’s all I have left in my bag of tricks at this point.”</p><p>	“Fair enough.” to curb her questions Dragonfly took a large swig from the wine bottle before passing it to the Bard, “You need an escort to the next town?” she wasn't sure what was actually after the guy.  But she would feel bad if anything happened to him now after she’d put so much effort into his new look.</p><p>	When he turned from the stars back to her his smile was genuine and joyful once more, “That would be wonderful.  I can tell you all about my story about the School of the Turtle on the way.”</p><p>------------------------------------BREAK---------------------------------------------------</p><p>	They part at the next Inn.  Dandelion decides to stay for a few days while Dragonfly is determined to continue forward.  She had heard about a rather lucrative Griffin hunt just a few more towns over.  If she continued on at her current pace she would reach it in a few days.  They parted with a hug and Dandelion promising to write a ballad about her School of the Lark.</p><p>	She is two days from town and changing her shirt when a piece of paper falls from her bag.  The smell on it is instantly recognizable.</p><p>	<em>		Hello Kitten</em></p><p>
  <em>Don’t be too surprised I know your school.  I’m rather good friends with a chap by the name of Aiden and the two of you share a few personality traits.  I mean that in the best way of course!  You Cats are far more creative than people give you credit for.  Though Larks are also rather clever, as you may have heard somewhere. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You should know that there is indeed a place for curious Cats and Larks to go to seek shelter during the Winter.  Perhaps this year the hearth may warm more than just Aiden.  Seek the town at the bottom of the North Mountain Pass when the last leaves start to fall.  Someone will find you...if you don’t find them first that is. </em>
</p><p>				<em>Dandelion</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks ever so much for reading my story today.  I hope it was fun :)<br/>Please let me know your thoughts with a kudos or comment &lt;3<br/>Have a great day!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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